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‘I can never forget my grandfather’s … faith’
By Izola E.F. Collins
Published July 27, 2003
I cannot forget the Storm of 1943, because I was 13 years old and played my first mature role in the home.
Storm warnings were late then, so my mother was out of town, and my sister was operating an elevator at the Buccaneer Hotel when the storm hit.
My father, a carpenter-contractor, was home at the time, and my grandfather, over 80 years old, was there.
As the winds picked up in intensity, boards came off, and water came through the roof. Daddy was extremely busy keeping the roof on from inside the attic.
As water came in anyway, the ceiling paper would fill up, like a pregnant woman, and burst onto the rooms below.
It was my job to warn Daddy when a ceiling was about to pop so he could come down and move the furniture around to safe, dry places.
Daddy drilled holes in the floors at intervals so the water would run out, and I was mopping as fast as I could.
Looking out of the windows, I could barely see, but wood and other debris were flying by, and the house was literally rocking from side to side on its foundation.
My mother’s father we called Papa, as she did. Realizing that Papa was calmly rocking in his chair by the rolled up carpet as we worked to keep the house safe and dry, I could not contain my curiosity.
“Papa, aren’t you scared?”
“Well, I lived through the 1900 Storm, and I lived through the 1915 Storm, and if God so wills, I’ll live through this one.”
He smiled, closed his eyes, and continued rocking.
Many years later, I almost forgot about the many houses that my father repaired, giving my poorly typed estimates to his customers, but I can never forget my grandfather’s face, or his faith, which has taken me through many trials.
Izola E.F. Collins Galveston
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